


Across The Universe

by nerdcredred, Ocelot_l



Series: Lifetimes [29]
Category: Atop the Fourth Wall, That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdcredred/pseuds/nerdcredred, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocelot_l/pseuds/Ocelot_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nostalgia Critic was never quite the same after he returned from the Plot Hole, which has led to many questions. Why have his reviews changed so drastically? Why does he continue to push people away from him? And why do his dreams continue to include glimpses into a world that was never supposed to be real?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All works can also be found at my LiveJournal page at http://bookishlady242.livejournal.com/
> 
> This fic is published WITH PERMISSION from ocelot_l. She is the sole writer of this story and as it is part of the Lifetimes canon, gave me permission to upload it here.
> 
> Author's Notes: This is an attempt to explain what happened to the Critic's character after his show returned. It's also an attempt to give a happier ending to the Demo Reel characters, who we felt suffered unfair fates once the show was cancelled. It was inspired by Brad's April Fool's Day video. There will be spoilers for the first Silent Hill video game in this story.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: We do not own these characters nor the people who portray these characters. This is meant as a work of fiction and is fair use. "Across The Universe" is performed by The Beatles.

_“Hi, I’m Braddie Broderick, and this is Demo Reel.”_

_“Now you might be asking yourself, haven’t you heard of that before? Why, yes you have, and like most other things that you’ve heard of, we’ve decided to remake not just this, but everything.”_

_“Too dark?”_

_“Nah… people love dead kids.”_

_“That’s what I keep saying!”_

_“We’ve never done hardcore pornography before.”_

_“What do you think, Admiral Crackers?”_

_“I like heroin.”_

_“Did someone say cameraman?”_

_“The name is Copenhagen. Carl Copenhagen, and the seas of good camerawork have been quiet for some months.”_

_“You’d better make something good here, because I don’t intend to go through the hell of making bad films again.”_

\-----

“You pilfering pus-cock!” Nostalgia Critic cried as he sat upright in his bed late one night. Instead of taking a moment to calm down and take notice of his surroundings, he instead reached toward his night table, fell head-first onto the floor, scrambled back up into a sitting position, and jabbed his fingers against his phone as he placed a call to the Cinema Snob.

“Whoever this is had better have a fucking good excuse for waking me up at four in the morning!” a groggy but still enraged Snob answered.

“Don’t you dare threaten me, you show-stealing, cameraman-stealing piece of shit!” Critic shouted back at him.

“Huh? Critic? What are you-”

“I know everything, you fucking traitor! After everything I’ve done for you, you go and pull a stunt like that!?”

“I-”

“It’s bad enough that you had no fucking qualms about stealing a show we’d worked so hard to make, but you didn’t even use Demo Reel to target big budget Hollywood films!” Critic screamed, his knuckles growing white as his grip on the phone tightened. “How in the fuck is re-making _E.T. the Porno_ supposed to hurt anyone aside from the unlucky people you forced into helping you make it?! My God, was watching you fuck that alien while you wore that enormous smile on your face disturbing!”

“Critic, listen-”

“No, you listen!” Critic snapped. “Because I am not done asking questions yet! In the first place, what in the fuck kind of crew was that? I know that Quinn and Carl weren’t the most stable of guys, but at least they weren’t a drug addict I found passed out in the basement and an insane cereal mascot zombie! Those are your friends, Snob, really? And speaking of friends, how dare you poach Carl too?! Do you know how much he meant to us? How much we cared about him? No, I’m sure that didn’t even cross your mind when you forced him to film your disgusting alien fucking movie! What the hell is wrong with you, Braddie?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Snob shot back, awake enough by this point to properly respond to the harassment he was receiving. “My name isn’t fucking Braddie and I don’t know what the fuck you’re even talking about, Critic! Does any of the shit you just accused me of doing sound like things I’d actually do? Asking people for help? Making friends? Smiling?!”

“Uh…” Critic paused, since these were valid questions when it came to Cinema Snob.

“Besides, if I wanted to fuck an alien, I’d fuck the three-breasted alien from _Total Recall_ , thank you very much,” Snob snapped. “Now I don’t know what kind of stroke you’re having, but you’d better call someone else to help you because I have more important things to do, like mashing my face into my pillow for the next five hours.”

There was a tense moment before a soft “Sorry” was whispered into the phone, followed by silence. Snob stared down at his now disconnected phone and growled softly.

“If I didn’t need a train to reach him, I’d shove my foot so far up his ass he’d be tasting leather for a month!”

From beside him on the bed, Phelous turned over and yawned before he stared up at Snob with bleary eyes. “What’s going on?” he mumbled. “Isn’t it a little early for threats?”

“It is never too early for threats,” Snob retorted as he tossed his phone away, “and that was Critic, who apparently chose me to be the recipient of his latest mental break-down.”

“Hmm, I wonder what’s wrong with him now,” Phelous mused before shifting back onto his side. Snob watched him before shaking his head and rolling him over so that he was lying on his back again.

“Oh no, I’m not being woken up like this for nothing. We’re having sex now, so take your damn pants off.”

“Did I ever tell you what a sweet-talker you are?” Phelous sarcastically replied before he indeed began to comply with Snob’s wishes.

\-----

Back in Chicago, Critic sighed as he tossed his phone onto his bed and rubbed at his left temple, attempting to relieve an ache that had suddenly flared up behind his eyes.

“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered. “I can’t believe I called Snob because of that fucking dream. Like he would know anything about Carl or Demo Reel. Of course he wouldn’t.” How could any of the others possibly know what he was talking about when he hadn’t bothered to explain any of it to them?

Critic’s eyes darted around the room as they searched for something to land on which would calm his troubled mind. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything here that would satisfy his need for peace, and Critic found himself becoming more and more worked up. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t be dreaming about that fictional life he’d been forced to live during his time in the Plot Hole. Everything about Donnie DuPree had been a fantasy, a dream, a punishment bestowed on him for a lifetime of bad deeds. Now that he was home, Critic should have forgotten all about that fictional world as he focused on fixing his life — his real life — but for some reason he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Not when the dreams continued to haunt his mind, showing him glimpses of the friends he’d once had, the show he’d once worked on, the life he’d once lived.

“But I should know the difference between dreams and reality,” Critic thought, grunting as he pulled on his robe and opened his bedroom door. “I shouldn’t get so fucking swept away that I yell at Snob for stealing my Carl away. I mean, Donnie’s Carl.” Somehow, the former sentence had felt more correct, but Critic didn’t want to think about that right now.

Since he was much too wound up to resume sleeping, Critic padded through the house in search of something to do. The Other Guy was away on business, as was Dominic, so spending time with either was out. Chester had mentioned something about sleeping over at Lester’s refrigerator box that night, so he was out too. Critic shuddered as he imagined voluntarily asking Ask That Guy to spend time with him, but after peaking into the basement, he was relieved to see that the other man still had not returned from whatever had caused him to just up and leave some time ago. Critic was mostly glad about not having the homicidal Guy around, but on nights like this one, where he was stuck in a large building with nothing but shadows and empty rooms for company, he found himself missing the unsettling man with the pipe just the slightest bit.

Critic glanced at the time, wondering for a brief moment if any of his co-workers were awake, but judging from Snob’s reaction to his phone call, not many would be in the mood for conversation at this hour. With a sigh, Critic finally landed in front of his computer and, after blasting the _DuckTales_ theme song to try and cheer himself up, started editing the review he’d finished filming earlier that day.

\-----

Hours later, a dozing Critic was startled into falling off his chair by a gentle pat to the shoulder.

“Whazzat? Who’s there?” Critic cried, leaping up at once and trying to reach for his gun.

“It’s me, Mr. Ma-Critic!” Chester waved happily at the man, who was frowning and once more rubbing at the side of his head.

“Oh, Chester.” Critic sighed and climbed back into his chair. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Sorry for waking you up! I just wanted to tell you all about the best date I ever had in my life!” Chester clenched his coffee cup with glee, the coins within rattling loudly as he bounced on the heels of his feet. “It all started when Lester and I stumbled into a bale of hay at the circus-”

“Look, Chester, I’m glad you had fun,” Critic wisely cut him off, “but can we save the juicy details for later? I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

“Okay!” Chester agreed, turning to go on his way, before he stopped, spun around once again, and wrapped his arms around Critic’s torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” Critic asked, trying to squirm out of the embrace immediately.

“Giving you a hug,” Chester replied with a smile. “You’ve looked real tired and grumpy lately, so I thought a hug would help.”

“I have?” Even though his sleep schedule had been erratic for some months now, Critic thought he’d been doing an excellent job of hiding its ill effects. He stopped struggling and allowed the hug for a moment, still unused to the feeling of someone wanting to be this close to him, the ache in his head lessening slightly. “Thanks, Chester. I, um, I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m really glad you live here.”

“I’m glad I live here too!” Chester proclaimed, finally pulling back. “Lester’s box is nice, but it has nothing on this place, Mr. Ma-Critic.”

“Yeah.” Critic frowned as he thought about the other bum he’d often seen with Chester. “You know, if Lester needs a place to sleep that isn’t a rat-chewed piece of garbage located in a dank alley, I guess it’d be fine if he stayed here. We have tons of room, especially now that Guy’s gone.”

Chester’s eyes lit up. “You really mean that? Oh, thank you, Mr. Ma-Critic! This is going to be the best news of Lester’s life! I’m gonna go tell him right now!”

Critic let out a small smile as he watched Chester scamper out the door like an excited puppy before he was overcome by an enormous yawn. It seemed his lack of sleep was catching up with him. Critic checked the time to see just how much sleep he’d missed that night when he started remembering a Skype conversation he’d recently had with Linkara.

“Shit, I’m late.” Critic had agreed to work on a crossover with the comic reviewer for a movie they were supposed to have started watching an hour ago. Not even bothering to check his phone for the angry messages he was sure to have received, Critic quickly showered, dressed, and headed downstairs to grab something to eat from the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, Critic.”

Critic froze in his tracks, a half-eaten bagel hanging from his mouth, when he heard that deliciously rich voice wafting in from the living room. After mustering his courage, he turned his head and came face to face with a sharp dressed man who was smiling at him in a manner reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. Critic forced the rest of the bagel down his throat before smiling nervously at the man.

“Oh, um, Mr…Zebub. How nice to see you in my home…unannounced…with no witnesses around.”

Satan chuckled, a low, sweet rumble, as he smoothed a wrinkle out of his jacket. “Don’t sound so worried, Critic. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to my favorite baby-sitter.”

At this point, Critic noticed that Evilina was sitting on the floor in front of her father, her pink boa bouncing as she played with the brightly colored ponies she loved so dearly. Upon noticing Critic’s stare, she waved cheerily at him.

“Hi Mr. Critic!”

“Hey,” Critic replied, offering her a much less enthusiastic wave, before turning his attention back to the Devil. “Yeah, I actually was just on my way out, so I don’t really have time for-”

“Critic,” Satan interrupted in a very pleasant voice. “Do you really think turning down a request from me is a wise decision?”

A moment of awkward silence passed before Critic meekly replied, “Um, w-what I meant to say was, what time will you be picking her up?”

“Oh, it might not be until the end of the day. I have a meeting about some new Chipmunk sequels, and those always cost at least a dozen people their souls,” Satan replied, his dark eyes flashing with delight. “Thanks again for looking after my precious hell-spawn, Critic,” he said, patting Evilina on the head before standing. “I know you two will have a pleasant day together because…I’m always watching you.”

Critic tried very hard to keep the contents of his stomach settled after being told such a thing and managed a half-hearted nod. Satisfied and still smiling in a delightful manner, the Devil vanished in a whiff of black smoke that left the house smelling faintly of sulfur.

“Wanna play ponies with me, Mr. Critic?” Evilina offered, holding up her toys once again. “They live in a magical world called Equestria!”

“As tempting as that sounds, I have an even better idea.” Critic swiftly pulled out his phone and queued up the app which allowed him to teleport. “How about I take you to a magical world here on Earth called Minnesota?”

“I wanna go to a magical world!” Evilina agreed, storing her ponies in the pockets of her dress before hurrying over to take Critic’s hand. “Does it have pegasi and unicorns?”

“No, but it has robots, magical talking foam-lizard things, and a guy with way too much time on his hands who likes to pretend he’s a Power Ranger.”

“Wow!”

\-----

Linkara was in the middle of leaving his eighth angry message for Critic when there was a knock at the door.

“Well, look who’s here at last,” he said when he saw Critic standing before him, clearly annoyed. “How nice of you to show up only an hour and a half late.”

“Oh no, I hope I didn’t take time away from your busy schedule of reading comics and watching Star Trek,” Critic replied, sounding just as annoyed. “I wasn’t trying to be late, but if you had to deal with the shit I do, then you’d understand.”

Linkara folded his arms. “Try me.”

Just then Evilina popped up in front of Critic and smiled brightly at the man. “I know you! You’re the man who saves Earth from all the evil things that come from space! I think you’re cool, but you’d better be careful, cuz Daddy really wants to take your soul one day!” With that, she skipped into the apartment while humming to herself.

Linkara blinked for a few moments before slowly turning back to Critic. “Was I just indirectly threatened by the spawn of Satan?”

“You get used to it,” Critic said, walking into the apartment as well.

“So I guess being saddled with her all day explains why you were late.”

“Mmm, sure.” Critic stifled a yawn and shook his head, knowing he needed to be awake if he was going to watch this movie. “So, want to get started?”

“What are we going to do about her?” Linkara gestured to Evilina, who was now jumping up and down on the couch and giggling.

“Don’t you live with a clown who lives for entertaining kids?”

“Yes, but Boffo’s at the hospital right now,” Linkara answered. “But I do live with another person who has no social life to speak of. Oh 90s Kid!” he shouted up the stairs. “I need you to come down here and help me with something!”

“Coming, dude!” A thunderous sound filled the air as the teenager stormed down the stairs before skidding to a halt in front of Linkara. “What totally awesome thing can I help you with? Upgrading the guns? Piloting your rad spaceship?”

“Actually we need you to baby-sit Evilina while Critic and I watch a crappy superhero movie.”

90s Kid seemed to deflate slightly. “Oh. I was, like, hoping you needed me for something really important.”

“This is important,” Linkara tried to reassure him as he patted his shoulder. “With your help, Critic and I can get this crossover done in no time and earn a ton of money, and then I’ll be able to raise your allowance.”

“Salary!” 90s Kid responded in a stubborn tone.

“Right, right, then I can raise your salary,” Linkara repeated, working very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Okay, dude, I’ll help you.” 90s Kid walked over to Evilina and flashed an enthusiastic smile. “Hey little dudette. I’m 90s Kid. Wanna hang out with me today?”

“Hi 90s Kid! I’m Evilina, and this is Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash!” Evilina introduced as she held up her pony toys. 90s Kid let out a soft gasp.

“You already have the Rainbow Power ponies! I totally didn’t know they were out yet! Uh, uh, I mean…” 90s Kid paused to glance over his shoulder, relieved to see that Linkara had left the room, “you can come hang out in my room and show me your weirdo pony things. I, like, totally don’t at all about that junk, but it’s cool if you wanna tell me about it or whatever.”

The two disappeared up the stairs while Linkara returned to the living room with his laptop. “Okay, Critic, I’m ready to…” Linkara paused and frowned at the other man, who had seemingly fallen asleep while leaning against the front door. “Critic!”

“What! I’m up!” Critic started, rubbing at his red eyes with the heels of his hands. Linkara gave him a skeptical look.

“Are you sure you’re up for this? You’re not looking so hot.”

“Have you checked a mirror lately? Because it’s hilarious that you’d say anything about my looks, dough boy,” Critic retorted a bit more harshly than he’d intended. Linkara fixed Critic with a stern look for a few moments before sitting down on the couch without further comment. Critic also sat down in silence, and hoped that the terrible movie they’d soon be mocking would end the tension between the pair, not to mention the throbbing pain which had flared up yet again inside his skull.


	2. Chapter 2

Thirty minutes into the movie, Linkara had two full pages of notes about things to mention in their review. Critic had two sentences comparing the film to Man Of Steel, since nothing brought in comments like a cheap shot, a doodle of a frowny face, and a damp spot of drool on his paper. This was due to the fact that he’d been nodding off every five minutes before being startled back to coherency by one of Linkara’s comments.

Still, Critic thought he was doing an excellent job of hiding his exhausted state from Linkara, since the other man had not once mentioned his mini snooze sessions. He continued to believe this until one of those sessions ended with him awakening with his head on Linkara’s lap, and his arms wrapped tightly around the other man’s body.

“I never imagined you to be a cuddly sleeper,” Linkara remarked when he noticed Critic’s bloodshot eyes staring up at him in confusion.

“What the fuck?!” Critic shot up like a rocket, his face heating instantly, as he backed far away from the other man. “What did you do to me?!”

“Me? You’re the one who passed out on top of me and started squeezing for dear life!” Linkara protested. He turned off the TV and stood up as well. “So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Critic!”

“I don’t know!” Critic spat, eventually backing up enough that he slammed into a wall. “Nothing’s going on! I just haven’t been sleeping well because of some stupid fucking dreams, that’s all!” He regretted saying this at once, since Critic was not in the mood to share his visions of another life with anyone, and he sighed in frustration when Linkara suddenly looked intrigued by this revelation.

“Dreams? What kind of dreams?”

“Nothing. They’re stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.” With Linkara advancing upon him, Critic tried to walk past him, but Linkara grabbed his arm and forced him to hold still.

“Critic, you’ve been acting really weird for a while now. Maybe these dreams have something do with it.”

“What do you mean I’ve been acting weird?” Critic demanded, trying to look insulted as he struggled to pull his arm free.

Linkara’s grip tightened, though his expression twisted into one of discomfort. “You know, because of all those things you’ve done lately. You seem to be having a lot more break-downs than you used to, and some of your more recent reviews have been kind of harsh and mean-spirited, haven’t they? Then there’s the whole beating a kid for mixing you up with the Nerd issue, and that cat incident…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Critic finally wrenched his arm free but instead of running he faced Linkara directly. “Do you really think I did all that sick shit? Of course not! I only fucking said it to entertain the fans!”

“The fans?” Linkara asked skeptically.

“Yes, genius, I did it all for my loyal fanbase, the whiny, immature fanboys who demand I review the worst movies ever created, and who scream so loud that I can’t do enough messed up shit to quiet them down! They love it when I act like a completely selfish, unlikable jackass who only whines about movies and TV shows from the past. They don’t want me to grow up or change or become any sort of better person,” Critic ended on a bitter note.

“That isn’t true, Critic,” Linkara replied calmly as he stared back at the man. “Your fans might be overbearing and overly-critical, but that doesn’t mean they want you to do the horrible crap you’ve been doing — or claiming to do— in your reviews lately.” 

“Oh, what do you know about overbearing fans?” Critic snapped, his face growing red again, though this time from anger. “Have you ever been shit on for daring to change the color of the wall in your apartment?”

“Well, no,” Linkara admitted, “but-”

“Have you ever been screamed at and told you’re worthless because you want to try doing editorial videos instead of angry reviews? No, you haven’t!” Critic reached for his head as he ranted, the throbbing within becoming almost unbearable. “I can’t even do sketches in my show without my fans calling for the heads of Tacoma and Rebecca, when all they’ve done is followed my instructions and tried to make me happy!”

“Tacoma and Rebecca?” Linkara repeated in a puzzled tone.

“It’s no wonder Rebecca left for greener pastures, because working for me was obviously a dead-end job. Both times. I can’t even do anything to help them succeed because I’m such a fuck-up. Why do I even bother? I should have just stayed in the Plot Hole with them, where I belonged… ow, fuck.” Critic grimaced and pressed the palm of his hand against his left temple, trying desperately to get the throbbing within to stop.

“Critic, are you okay?” a very concerned Linkara asked as he watched Critic stumble forward in pain. “Okay, let’s just calm down before something serious happens. Sit back down on the couch and I’ll get you some ice for your head.”

“That won’t help,” Critic mumbled, but he was desperate to stop the white-hot needle piercing into the space just behind his eyes, so he accepted the ice pack from Linkara without complaint and pressed it to his forehead.

Linkara sat down beside him, still looking concerned. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Critic, but I’m worried that if you keep avoiding things like you’re trying to, you’re going to end up a wreck.”

“Like I’m not already one,” Critic sighed, the cold drops of water beginning to soothe his heated cheeks.

“Critic, please, I’m being serious here.” The worry was evident in Linkara’s face and voice. “I know we always fight and insult each other, but I’m still your friend, and I want to help you if something’s wrong. I care about you, you know?”

“You do?” Critic asked softly, half-expecting Linkara to instantly take back his claim.

“Of course I do. We all do. Do you think we’d all keep following you into one stupid, dangerous adventure after another if we didn’t care about you?” Linkara asked with a smile. “Even your worst enemies stop being enemies and start caring about you eventually. The Nerd became your friend and ally in battle, Douchey took your spot in the Plot Hole for you, and Mara Wilson sent a fruit basket to your brother after you first disappeared. By the way, jeez you have a lot of enemies!”

Critic cracked a smile at this claim and nodded, since yeah, he was prone to pissing off people.

“Look, the point is that I care about you, you stubborn jackass, and I want you around to insult and watch crappy movies with for a long time to come.”

Linkara’s words caused Critic to swallow softly. He shifted his ice pack a bit as he tried to think of a response. Critic was never good with words and emotions, or using words to express those emotions, but he tried his best.

“Thanks, Linkara. I… you know I…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you care too, but right now let’s get back to the problem at hand.” Critic flashed Linkara a grateful smile before he looked down.

“You want to know about the dreams, don’t you?”

“I feel like that would be the best starting point, yes,” Linkara admitted. “You’ve said a lot of weird stuff I don’t really understand today, but I think if we go through things piece by piece, we’ll be able to figure out what to do. Unless there’s a place you’d rather start, Critic?”

Critic sighed. “You won’t understand the dreams unless I tell you about something else first. The Plot Hole.”

Linkara’s brows rose and he sat up straighter, listening to Critic with his full attention. No one had ever heard about Critic’s time in the Plot Hole before, not even the Other Guy.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, but the Plot Hole sort of…I don’t know what it did to me, but when I was inside it, I felt like I was split into different pieces,” Critic said slowly, hoping that Linkara wouldn’t start laughing at him. “One piece of me stayed in the Hole and became connected to everything in the universe here. I could sense everything that was going on all around me, all at once, even all of you guys at Channel Awesome,” he explained, “and if I tried really hard, I could even have an impact on events here. But the other piece of me…it was forced to live through this delusion that I was a whole different person. A person named Donnie.”

Critic did his best to give a brief yet still detailed summary of the life of Donnie DuPree, the Demo Reel crew, and his adventures with said crew. Linkara listened quietly for the most part, only stopping Critic a few times to ask for clarification, though his expressions throughout the tale ranged from shock to horror to disgust to horror to sadness to disgust to horror and then more horror, before finally shock returned to stay.

“Wow,” he whispered when Critic was done. “I can’t believe you really experienced all of that and came out as well-adjusted as you are.”

“What do you mean?” Critic asked, looking a bit puzzled.

“I mean I’ve read Shakespearean tragedies than were less tragic than the story you just told me!” Linkara rubbed at his face, still trying to recover from the Critic’s revelations.

“It wasn’t really that bad,” Critic muttered, lowering the ice pack now since his head finally seemed to be returning to normal. Linkara stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry; did you just say that your tale of a lifetime of suffering was not that bad? The tale you just told me? The one that started with a poor little boy losing his mom and which grew into a whole band of broken people who couldn’t seem to outrun the despair that was chasing after them? God, it’s no wonder you’re having nightmares about that.”

“No, that’s – you got it all fucking wrong!” Critic’s hackles rose sharply at what seemed to be an insult to his imaginary life and he glared rather defiantly at Linkara. “Yes, our lives sucked, but we were working together to fix that! My friends–Donnie’s friends were damn good people and they deserved better than what they were fucking given by fate! That’s why the dreams made me so happy at first, because they were all finally getting another chance to fix their lives!”

“So, these were good dreams?” Linkara asked slowly, trying to make sense of it all.

“Yeah, they were.” Critic seemed to relax almost instantly as he recalled the visions he’d seen. “I watched Tacoma start working with another production company. I watched Rebecca get a steady acting job for the first time in her life. I watched Quinn…well I don’t really know what he was doing, but he was surrounded by people and he was laughing; I’d never seen him hang around anyone other than us before so that one was really surprising. I watched Tacoma and Rebecca’s first date…they looked so happy together.” Critic paused, uncharacteristically choked up, and Linkara wisely chose not to comment. “And then last night I saw Carl finding work with the newly revived Demo Reel crew,” Critic continued, his mood turning sour. “I can’t believe fucking Snob not only stole our show but Carl too.”

“Snob?” Linkara interjected. “So the Cinema Snob was in your dream too?”

“Actually no,” Critic sighed, feeling a bit embarrassed now. “It wasn’t really Snob, it was this guy who reminded me of Snob. A lot. And his crew reminded me of Snob’s weird crew. A lot.”

“So that’s why you called him up to scream gibberish at him last night,” Linkara mused.

Critic turned to him, goggle-eyed. “How the fuck did you know about that?”

“I have my ways,” Linkara replied, smirking in amusement at Critic’s embarrassment. “But back to the point – if you’re having such good dreams about these people, then why are you losing sleep over them?”

“Uh, maybe because I’m having dreams about the fucking delusions I was forced to endure by the Plot Hole?” Critic said, as if this should be the most obvious conclusion to come to in the world. “Everything that happened when I was Donnie was fake, made-up, a fantasy, so why would I keep thinking about all that shit when I’m back here in reality? Doesn’t that mean that I’m the one who’s delusional?” Critic was actually very worried that this was in the fact the case, but Linkara frowned at his claim.

“Not necessarily, Critic. There could be a number of explanations for what’s happening to you right now. Even though these people weren’t real, they still felt real to you at one time. Actually, they probably still feel real to you even now, right?”

“Um…” Critic looked down uncomfortably.

“Critic, I’m not going to think you’re crazy if you answer yes to that question,” Linkara reassured him.

“Okay, fine, so what if I do?” Critic revealed, twisting the melted ice pack in his hands.

“Well, then it seems natural that you’d want to see happy endings for these people you feel so close to,” Linkara continued. “So it’s not that surprising that you’re using your dreams as a kind of wish fulfillment for these friends of yours. If you can make them happy in your own mind, maybe you can finally let them go, and let go of everything that happened to you when you were in the Plot Hole.”

“Maybe,” Critic said, although this explanation didn’t feel right to him. What if he didn’t even want to let go of those friends in the first place? “But wait, Carl didn’t really get a happy ending,” he said, scrunching up his nose as he thought back to his latest dream. “Why would I imagine Carl’s happy ending to be going to work for another terrible film crew which starred Snob – sorry, I mean Braddie – as a crazy man who really wanted to fuck E.T.?”

Linkara shuddered. “I really don’t want to know the answer to that question.” He thought for a moment before turning again to Critic. “Okay, let’s try another meaning to all of this. You said that two of your friends were named Tacoma and Rebecca, right?” Critic nodded. “Now, I also remember you saying those names before, when I think you were talking about Malcolm and Rachel?”

Critic sighed, feeling even more embarrassed. “Shit, you’re right. I don’t even know why I said that before. I know they’re all different people; it’s just that Malcolm and Rachel remind me so much of those two. Fuck, you must really think I’m crazy.”

“I do not think you’re crazy,” Linkara reassured him in a firm, yet gentle tone. “But this does explain why you were so quick to hire those two for your show. The dreams must have really made you miss Tacoma and Rebecca.”

Critic shook his head. “No, the dreams only started a few months ago. I hired those two long before that just because it felt like the right decision at the time. I didn’t realize how much they reminded me of Tacoma and Rebecca until a while later.”

“A few months ago,” Linkara murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. “Did the dreams, by any chance, start when Rebecca moved away?”

Critic scrunched his face as he thought about it. “Actually yeah, I think I had the first one on the night after she’d left. Do you think that means something?”

“Possibly. Did you feel…?” Linkara paused to pick his words, “sort of hurt or abandoned when she left, Critic?”

“I dunno. Didn’t care that much.” Critic slumped down in his seat as he answered, staring at his lap.

“So that’s a yes, then. Interesting.” While Critic pouted at being so easily read, Linkara stood up and paced in front of the couch as he thought. “So, Malcolm and Rachel reminded you of your friends, and then people reminding you of Snob and his group appeared in your dreams…” Linkara stopped and looked at Critic. “Were there any other people you met while you were Donnie who reminded you of someone here?”

“Uhh… yes,” Critic said slowly, not really sure of what Linkara was getting at. “The guy who owned the warehouse we used as a studio was a lot like The Last Angry Geek with a terrible Italian accent. Quinn actually reminds me sometimes of that new guy, Jim, who I also hired to act in the episodes. There’s also, my–Donnie’s wife.”

“Who was she like?”

Critic muttered his answer very softly. “Mara Wilson.” Critic also flushed when Linkara started laughing. “Shut up! It’s not like I would have chosen her for a partner if I had any say in the matter!”

Linkara wiped the tears from his eyes and quirked an eyebrow. “So, who would you have chosen?” Critic stammered, his face heating up again, and quickly looked away.

“I – that is not relevant to what we are discussing now!”

“Okay, calm down, I was just teasing. Is there anyone else who reminds you of someone from Donnie’s life?”

“Carl. He really made me think of my brother the more I was around him.” Critic watched Linkara pace yet again and he started to grow impatient. “Look, is there a point to all these questions? One which doesn’t indicate I’m a sick man who’s becoming consumed by a place and people who don’t exist?”

“Actually, there is.” Linkara stopped and smiled, pressing his hands together. “You wouldn’t have to worry about fixating on delusions if the people and places you experienced as Donnie actually did exist!”

“Huh?” Critic tilted his head, looking very confused.

“Alternate universes,” Linkara continued, ignoring how flummoxed his friend seemed to be. “Universes where the Earth was shaped by very different circumstances than our Earth was, leading to versions of ourselves possibly existing as very different people. A world could definitely form where there is no Nostalgia Critic, but a Donnie DuPree instead, just as there could be a world where you were born a girl and became the Nostalgia Chick instead-”

“Is there a world where you aren’t a pasty-faced nerd who constantly chatters away about nonsensical ideas?” Critic dryly interrupted. Linkara rolled his eyes.

“I know it sounds hard to believe, but there are millions of other universes out there, Critic. Linksano, my scientific adviser comes from another world, and so does Jaeris, that depressed blonde guy who lives in the house-shaped spaceship.”

“Okay, fine, so let’s say I believe you, and believe that the world Donnie came from was one that actually existed in another universe,” Critic relented. “How does that help me now? I’m still fixating on people who to the rest of the world seem imaginary. It’s not like I can get in contact with them and prove they’re real…can I?” A note of hope he hadn’t meant to reveal slipped out in this question, but Linkara didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, theoretically it’s possible, but the process of locating another universe is a very long and difficult one,” Linkara revealed. “Linksano has been looking for two distinct universes for some time now without any luck, and the chances of him stumbling upon the one you visited are slim at best.”

“Oh.” Even though he tried to keep his expression neutral, Critic felt a wave of sadness sweep over him. He couldn’t put into words why he felt sad, but the feeling that he had once again been a disappointment to others hung heavy in his chest.

Linkara’s smile slowly fell. “I guess this possibility didn’t cheer you up as much as I’d hoped.”

“Why should it?” Critic asked with a shrug. “I barely understand what you’re saying here. Even if it was true, how could I have been both the Plot Hole and living a completely different life at the same time? How does that make any fucking sense?”

“Well, you said that during that time, you felt like pieces of you were doing different things,” Linkara reaffirmed. “So, what if we’re looking at a _Silent Hill_ situation here?”

“A what?”

“You know, _Silent Hill_? A great game series that became a mediocre movie, followed by a God-awful sequel?”

Critic scratched his chin and thought. “That sounds vaguely familiar…did I review that?”

“Nope, Phelous beat you to it. Anyway, in the original _Silent Hill_ game, we find out that the little girl Cheryl, who the main character has been looking for the whole time, actually never existed. She was in reality half of the soul of Alessa, a girl who was trapped in Silent Hill and desperate for help. That sounds awfully similar to your own predicament, right Critic?”

“I guess so.” A lot of the memories Critic had of his time in the Plot Hole had grown fuzzy, as had parts of Donnie’s life, so Critic wasn’t entirely sure that what Linkara was suggesting was accurate, but it certainly sounded plausible. The Plot Hole contained infinite power and was capable of doing anything, so splitting Critic’s soul didn’t seem like too much of a wild idea. But even if this was true, what was it supposed to mean?

“You’re probably wondering by now what the dreams have to do with your friends being real,” Linkara deduced, earning himself another pouty Critic in the process. “Well, it could mean as I said before that you’re granting each of them happiness in your own mind because they meant so much to you when you were Donnie. Or…” Linkara paused and looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you’re actually seeing glimpses of their current lives whenever you fall asleep.”

“Okay, even if I buy all that other shit you’ve been spewing, how the hell does that make any sense?” Critic spewed, still twisting the ice pack in his hands. “I don’t have psychic fucking powers, I don’t know any magic like you, the only advanced technology I have is the shit I stole from Insano, and I don’t think even he could build something that would let me communicate with another universe, so how the fuck am I seeing these…these visions or whatever they are?”

Linkara frowned as he struggled to think up an answer that would fit. “I’m sorry, Critic, but that’s going to be more difficult to explain. I feel like it has something to do with you entering the Plot Hole. If it’s true that your soul was split into pieces, maybe that changed you on some fundamental level.”

“So maybe I really am the sub-human piece of shit that my most obnoxious fanboys claim I am?” Critic asked miserably before wincing and bringing a hand to his once again throbbing skull. “Ow, fuck. Fuck these fucking headaches. Do you have another ice pack?”

“Yeah, hang on.” Linkara retrieved a second pack from the freezer, but as he handed it to Critic, he fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “I don’t remember you getting headaches like this before. Are they a recent thing?”

“Mmm, I guess they have really picked up the last couple of months,” Critic replied before sighing with relief as the cool material pressed against his skin.

“A couple of months...so, around the same time Rachel left and when you started having the dreams,” Linkara said, his eyes widening slightly. “Critic, that could mean something! Let’s see, when Rachel left you felt abandoned-”

“I did not feel abandoned!” Critic cried, though Linkara ignored him.

“-and today the pain seemed strongest when you were telling me about your demanding fans, and how you feel vulnerable when you think you’re letting them down-”

“I never said I was fucking vulnerable!” Critic snapped, his cheeks flushing red again.

“-so maybe that’s the key!” Linkara finished, now smiling brightly. “You feel bad about yourself, or alone and scared, you get a headache, and then a dream about the other world comes! Don’t you think that could be it?”

“I think you’re a fucking moron.” Critic lowered the pack to glare at Linkara, which wasn’t really the smartest move since his head started to feel like it might split in two at any moment, but he couldn’t stop himself now. “I think I get stress headaches because I work on the fucking Internet which is full of shitty fucking entitled assholes who thrive on trashing me and telling me how much I suck, how much my friends suck, and how everyone would be better off if I never came back in the first place! And now I’m starting to think they were right!”

The flame of rage within Critic only started to wither when a small set of arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. “Don’t say that, Mr. Critic,” Evilina said, popping her head up from behind the couch as she hugged the man tightly. “I don’t think it would be better if you never came back. You’re my friend and I’m happy you’re here to play with. You don’t suck. I know why Daddy is always watching you and saying you’re special now, cuz you’re my specialist friend of all.” Evilina finished by planting a kiss on Critic’s cheek and giggling sweetly.

“Aww, I thought I was your specialist friend?” 90s Kid said with a slight pout on his face as he popped up from behind the couch as well.

“You’re my second specialist friend,” Evilina replied, which didn’t seem to mollify the teenager much.

“Okay, I think it’s time for all the little eavesdroppers to return to their previously scheduled fun upstairs,” Linkara said in a slightly stern manner.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, dude.”

“Actually, wait, before you go, there’s something I want to ask Evilina,” Linkara said, turning to the girl and smiling at her. “Did you say that your Daddy thinks Critic is special?” She nodded. “Do you know why he thinks that?”

“Cuz Mr. Critic has something special inside him,” Evilina said. “I don’t really know what it is, but it’s a powerful thing that Daddy really wants. I think he’s kinda scared of how powerful it is. Silly Daddy,” she added with a giggle. “Daddy can’t get it yet but he’s trying really hard to, so he always watches Critic, especially when he’s upset. I like watching Critic when he’s upset too, cuz he’s really funny.”

“How…charming,” Linkara replied, trying to retain his calm demeanor. “Anyway, thanks for answering that for me, Evilina.” After the two disappeared, Linkara turned back to Critic. “I think I have it now,” he said, looking very confident. “What if you still have a piece of the Plot Hole inside your body, Critic? I think that’s what’s been causing your pain lately. Actually, to go even deeper, if a piece of the Plot Hole is inside you, it might be what’s giving you visions of this other world.” Linkara then realized that Critic was no longer holding the ice pack to his forehead or wincing. “Are you feeling better already?”

“Huh? Yeah, the pain’s almost gone,” Critic muttered, too distracted by everything he had just heard to really focus on his head at the moment. Could it really be true? Satan was popping up more often than he had before, usually during the times when Critic was feeling low or upset if he thought about it, but he’d never done anything more than play mind games and ask him to babysit. Was he really after a piece of the Plot Hole that was trapped inside Critic? Or was Evilina just taking after her father by playing yet another game with his fragile psyche?

Before Critic could contemplate this further, he was alarmed to discover that another set of arms had wrapped around his shoulders, only this time they belonged to a comic book nerd who was now much too close to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Critic cried, immediately working to push Linkara away.

“Testing a theory,” Linkara evenly replied. “Does the pain in your head feel better or worse when I do this and tell you how much I treasure you as a friend?”

Critic almost overheated from embarrassment and even though the throbbing all but vanished from his skull, he instead spat out, “Worse! It’s fucking worse, you’re making me feel like I’m going to fucking die, now get off of me!”

“So better, then,” Linkara mused before he was unceremoniously shoved to the floor. He sighed and stood back up, adjusting his hat. “You could be a little more grateful to me since I am helping you solve this massive life problem of yours.”

“The only thing you’re doing is making me feel sick!” Critic declared, once again hurriedly moving backwards away from the other man. Linkara rolled his eyes and walked toward Critic.

“Has this happened before? Have you felt the pain recede when someone was showing you appreciation? Possibly giving you a hug in the process?”

Critic thought back to his earlier encounter with Chester and shook his head furiously. “You’re fucking crazy! That never happened, ever, so stay back!”

Linkara couldn’t help chuckling. “God, Critic, you are so easy to read. I don’t even know why you bother trying to lie.”

“I don’t know why you bother showing your ugly smelly face to anyone!” Critic retorted before he bumped into the front door and almost fell over.

Linkara only shook his head at him as a parent would do to a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Okay, fine, just calm down. Let’s go back and sit on the couch and I promise not to surprise you with hugs or nice words again.”

“What’s the point?” Critic asked, slumping against the door and sighing. “I don’t even feel like talking about this anymore.”

“Critic, we’re making some real progress here,” Linkara said, crossing his arms as his expression grew serious. “You should feel relieved to know you aren’t fixated on hallucinations like you originally thought, not if these dreams are actually glimpses into the lives of people you once knew.”

“Oh yeah, I’m really fucking relieved,” Critic sarcastically replied. “Now I get to celebrate the fact that every day I’ll probably get a shitty headache, before having a shitty dream about shitty people with shitty lives from another world! So hurray, the mystery is solved, we can all celebrate.”

“Critic, stop it.” Linkara stepped closer and looked even more serious than before. “I know you don’t really believe that. Those people were your friends, don’t dismiss them like that. When you told me about those visions where they were finally having some good luck in their lives, I know you were happy.”

“Right, sure, I’m very happy,” Critic snarked as he shoved his genuine feelings about the crew down for the sake of arguing further. “It’s great to see how everyone’s lives have gotten better. It would have been nice if things had actually been good while I was there, but I guess that would have been a little too easy, wouldn’t it? Oh no, we can’t have any good things happen while Critic’s around! We have to wait until after he’s gone to allow anyone to have any happiness!”

Critic fell silent then as the words he’d so easily spat out suddenly sunk into his mind. “Oh God…that’s right, isn’t it?” he asked softly, looking horrified. “Nobody could be happy because I was there…only when Donnie…when I disappeared could things become better. I was just…the source of their misery, wasn’t I? Just like I always am.”

Linkara looked startled by Critic’s sudden mood swing and he quickly shook his head. “No, Critic, that can’t be right. You do not bring misery to people, you make them laugh and smile and think deeply about things from their childhoods.”

“Everything I do causes destruction and pain,” Critic whispered, unable to hear Linkara’s words at all. “I trick people into dangerous situations, hurt them, let them down over and over again, even get them killed…”

“Critic, you know that was an accident. Like I said before, we wouldn’t have done any of that stuff with you if we didn’t really want to,” Linkara tried to interrupt, but Critic still did not hear him.

“Even when I try to make up for everything I’ve done, I still end up failing. Even a new life in a new world only brought misery and pain to everyone around me.”

“Listen to me, Critic.” Linkara was taken aback to see that his friend seemed close to tears, so without thinking he reached out to touch his shoulder. “You can’t keep thinking like that, it’s only going to make you feel worse.”

“Get off me!” Critic flinched away from any contact. He shoved Linkara backwards and turned to the stairs. “Evilina! We’re leaving! Come down here right now!”

The pigtailed girl skipped down the stairs and over to Critic immediately, 90s Kid following along behind her. “Do we really have to go already, Mr. Critic?”

“Yes, we do,” Critic insisted. He could not spend one moment longer with Linkara and that pitiful expression he was giving him or he would lose all control of himself.

“Okay.” Evilina slipped her hand into Critic’s before turning around to wave at the others. “Bye 90s Kid! Bye Mr. Linkara! Thanks for a fun day!”

“Bye dudette! We’ll hang later!” 90s Kid continued waving until the two vanished before he noticed that Linkara did not seem to be himself. “Are you okay, man?”

“Not really,” Linkara admitted before his expression grew determined. “But I will be. I just need to make a few calls first.”


	3. Chapter 3

After another sleepless night of editing and blasting the theme songs to cartoons from the 80s and 90s, Nostalgia Critic was growing sick of just about everything, especially the taste of energy drinks. Unfortunately, these were the elixirs he was using to curb his sleep cycles, so he chugged yet another one before tossing the empty can over his shoulder.

“Whoa!” Chester, who’d just stepped into the room, managed to duck before the metallic container slammed into his skull.

“Huh? Oh, sorry about that,” Critic muttered after his bleary eyes focused on the bum long enough to identify him. “What are you doing up so late, Chester?”

“Actually, it’s morning, Mr. Ma-Critic,” Chester happily informed him, “and I just wanted to let you know that Lester has decided to take you up on your very generous offer!”

“Hello, Mr. Ma-Critic!” Lester poked his head in from the hallway before offering Critic a friendly wave. “Thanks for inviting me to stay here with you and Chester!”

“Don’t mention it,” Critic muttered, rubbing at his reddened eyes a bit.

“We’re going to go move Lester’s things into the spare bedroom now, so we won’t bother you any more, Mr. Ma-Critic.” Before Chester completely exited the room, he turned back to Critic with a playful smile. “Oh, and there’s one last thing I wanted to tell you: there’s a surprise for you downstairs that you should go and see!”

“Great,” Critic snidely remarked as he thought back to some of the other surprises Chester had brought home. “What is it this time, Chester?

Another bag of medical waste? A kiddie pool full of raccoons? Will I need to wear protective gloves at all?”

In response, Chester merely giggled and said, “You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” before disappearing.

Critic sighed and swiped at his eyes once more. He really wanted to return to his work, but he was feeling the stirrings of another headache behind his eyes. Critic was eager to avoid any further pain for the foreseeable future, so he stood up from his desk, straightened his thoroughly wrinkled tie as best he could, and padded down the stairs.

If he hadn’t been in such a sleep-deprived state, Critic might have noticed the soft murmurings periodically escaping from the bottom floor of his house and subsequently wouldn’t have stared incomprehensibly at his friends and co-workers, whom were gathered about his living room, in quiet shock for several moments.

“Oh God,” he said at last, his expression transforming into one of despair. “You’re here to have me committed, aren’t you?”

“Critic, please.” Nostalgia Chick took a swig from her beer bottle before continuing. “If we wanted to have you committed, you’d already be Chloroformed and stashed in the trunk of my car.”

“Oh. Right. So…what the hell are you all doing here?”

“They’re here because of me,” Linkara announced, standing suddenly before he moved toward Critic. “I told them how you’ve been feeling a bit down in the dumps lately and asked if everyone could stop by to help cheer you up, Critic.”

Critic’s eyes narrowed at once, the ache in his head growing slightly stronger. “What else did you tell them?”

Linkara rolled his eyes. “Nothing, of course. Do you have any faith in me at all?” he murmured as he grasped Critic’s arm and started tugging him toward the couch. Critic chose not to respond and instead yanked his arm free as he turned to address the others.

“Look, I don’t know how Linkara bribed you to come here today, but you shouldn’t have bothered. I’m feeling peachy fucking keen and there’s no reason for any of you to worry about me.”

“You’re peachy fucking keen, huh?” Snob asked in an irritated tone. “Is that why you called me up at four in the morning to scream a bunch of bullshit at me?”

“In the first place, I already apologized for that!” Critic snapped, pointing his finger directly at Snob. “And in the second place…why the hell are you sitting on Phelous’ lap?”

Snob scoffed and shifted backwards slightly against his boyfriend. “All the other seats are taken. Do you want me to sit on the floor, Critic?” he asked, seeming thoroughly disgusted by such a prospect.

“What? No! I was just-you just-oh, never mind.” Critic groaned and pressed his right palm against his temple. By now, a small blossom of fire had ignited inside his skull and he worried that it would soon become a full blown inferno. “My point is still the same. You all don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, so why don’t we not be here together, okay?”

“I want to be here,” Paw said, flashing Critic a friendly smile.

Critic’s expression remained skeptical. “Really, Paw? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be home talking to your appliances and giving them shitty names?”

While Paw’s head drooped dejectedly, his arm was soothingly patted by the Maven of the Eventide.

“Don’t listen to him, darling. Dave is a perfectly fine name to give to a table.” She shot Critic an unpleasant look, which he returned.

“You know, real vampires can’t have babies.”

“I will suck the juices from your heart with a Krazy Straw!” Maven snapped, her eyes flashing red.

“Okay, people, just calm down!” Linkara cried, holding up his hands to try and regain order. “Let’s stop with the insults and the threats before things get out of hand here.”

“Things are already out of hand,” Critic said softly, taking a step backwards from the group. “None of you should be here now. Not after everything I’ve done. Snob’s right to be pissed at me, and the rest of you should be too. I can’t even believe you’re here, Sage,” he said, turning to the anime reviewer. “Not after how I treated you during that crossover we did when I acted like a complete asshole.”

“Hey, it’s all water under the bridge,” Sage said with a dismissive shrug. “I know coming back from a mystical portal containing unimaginable power can screw with even the strongest person, so I don’t blame you for coming back with scrambled eggs for brains. Besides, I have messed with you in the past with that whole ‘pretending to be the devil’ shtick, so I’d say we’re even now. That’s why I’m totally on board with Linkara’s plan for this group love-fest.” Sage’s smile grew as he started to unbutton his shirt. “So, who’s up first?”

“Sage, it is not that kind of love-fest, so keep your clothes on,” Linkara replied, sighing in disbelief at his colleague.

“Aww, so I bought all this orgy glitter for nothing?”

“They make orgy glitter?” Spoony wondered, leaning in closer to Sage.

“Funny you should ask-”

“Enough!” Linkara was about ready to pull out his Magic Gun and start shooting, but he resisted the urge and instead folded his hands together to keep them from twitching. “The only thing we’re going to be discussing right now is Critic and how much we frigging care about him! So Todd, why don’t you start by playing the friendship song you wrote-”

“Damn it, just stop!” Critic screamed, his patience completely evaporating while the throbbing in his head intensified. “I don’t want to hear your fucking lies about how I’m a wonderful person and how much you give a shit about me! I know none of it is true so save your breath and leave me the hell alone!”

“Those aren’t lies, Critic!” Spoony protested while the other producers cried out in agreement. “We do give a shit about you!”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes we do!”

“Why would you ever think we wouldn’t?” Chick asked, looking truly confused by Critic’s statements.

“Because when I was in the Plot Hole half of me become connected to everything in the fucking universe!” Critic cried, the truth pouring from his mouth like water from a faucet. “I could perceive everything, I could feel everything, including you guys, and I finally felt the truth! How you resented me for destroying your stuff,” he said, looking to Sci-Fi Guy, “how you wished I would remain gone so you could usurp my position,” he turned to Chick this time, “how you felt relieved that I was no longer around to make your lives miserable, or hopeful that things would get better now that I wasn’t around, or…”

Critic paused when his gaze landed on Film Brain but he quickly shook his head and continued to speak.

“I could sense everything…and I knew that you had a right to feel this way. You should all despise me and wish that I had never come back here to ruin your lives some more. I finally know the truth about myself now, so I understand. I can only bring misery… even in the Plot Hole; all I could do was bring them misery…”

Critic’s body went rigid and he turned around, forcing the emotions that threatened to swallow him whole back into the depths of his heart, keeping them locked off from the world. He would not; he could not show the others how much this revelation pained him.

“Critic,” Linkara said softly, but Critic shook his head, refusing to turn around, flames of agony searing inside his skull.

“Just go.” Unable to bear being around them any longer, Critic escaped up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

\-----

Sometime later, after Critic had grown weary of trying to count the dust particles floating inside the ray of sunlight that shone across his bed, there was a soft knock at his door.

“I am not in the mood for a pep talk, Linkara.” Even though his head was still killing him, Critic could not stomach what he expected the comic lover to do in an attempt to make him feel better.

“Um, actually it’s just me, Critic.” Film Brain’s nervous voice answered.

Critic’s whole body tensed and his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

“I know it’s not my place or anything, but you looked so very upset before that I thought you might like something warm to drink. That always does wonders at helping me to cheer up.”

“I don’t drink tea.” Critic said flatly.

“Oh, yes I know. That’s why I brought you a cup of cocoa instead. I, um, know you have a fondness for sweet things and I remembered how you enjoy drinking this every December, so I just thought… but perhaps I am bothering you after all, so I’ll just leave now-”

Film Brain fell silent when the door opened and an exhausted but still rather tense Critic appeared before him.

“I’ll take it,” he said tersely, grabbing the tray from Film Brain’s hands before he could even realize what was happening. “Thanks.” Critic was about to close the door on him when Film Brain grabbed onto the frame and looked up at him.

“Wait! I was also hoping to talk to you, Critic. I know you aren’t feeling well, but this will only take a minute. Please.” Film Brain’s eyes were so were wide and pleading that Critic could barely stand to look at them for longer than a few seconds.

“Fine. Just make it quick.” He sat back down on his bed, tracing the design on the front of the cup with his index finger before picking it up and taking a sip. The sweet beverage warmed him considerably and one swallow did have the effect of slightly reducing the ache behind his eyes, but Critic put the cup down, not wanting to feel better just yet. Film Brain remained standing awkwardly in front of him, his palms pressed together, fingers entwined.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he began, his words pouring out of him rather quickly. “I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like I was happy that you were gone before. I don’t quite understand what happened to you when you were in the Plot Hole, but if you could sense things about us, like how we were feeling, then I might have led you to believe that I was glad that you were no longer with us, and that is not at all how I felt,” he continued, turning his pleading eyes on Critic in full force. “I thought that when you had left us, you had finally found some measure of peace and that’s why I was happy. I was so proud of you because I thought you had given your life to save us all, and despite how the others may have felt about you they thought that too, because, um, well I might have accidentally told them about your heroic sacrifice after having a few too many drinks at that party-”

“Film Brain,” Critic quietly interrupted, his fingers softly tapping along the side of the cup. “You are the last person who needs to apologize to me. I perceived you so many fucking times when I was in the Plot Hole that I know you never wanted me dead.” Critic paused then, realizing he’d just admitted more than he’d meant to, before quickly continuing and hoping the other man wouldn’t notice. “Hell, no one needs to apologize to me. I’ve done enough shit to warrant the celebration that my apparent death caused.”

“That wasn’t why we were celebrating!” Film Brain quickly said.

“I know, it’s because you were all relieved to have Spoony back,” Critic finished, not wanting the younger man to start babbling away again, “and you were thinking about how you had the rest of your lives ahead of you, free to do whatever you wanted without me around to hold you back. Filming crossovers and movies, building new homes and new relationships… attempting dates with MikeJ…”

“You know about that?” Film Brain squeaked, his whole face flushing red. “Th-that whole ordeal was just a mistake that happened because we were lonely and not in our right minds-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Critic set the tray and his half-empty cup on his nightstand before looking to the floor. “You don’t have to do anything for me anymore, Film Brain. After all these years of torment and agony, I officially release you from being my lackey. You’re free now.”

Instead of sighing with relief, as Critic had expected, Film Brain stepped closer to him and spoke again in a sorrowful tone. “Critic, I’ve never felt like I was trapped by you. I did all those things because I wanted to. Maybe you only saw me as a lackey who did your bidding, but to me it meant so much more…”

“What is wrong with you?!” Film Brain flinched and took a step back at the sudden outburst, while Critic’s fingers curled tightly into fists. “How can you be saying this shit after everything that’s happened? After how fucking awful I’ve been to you?” He looked up, staring at Film Brain with an incredulous expression, though a hint of fear flickered behind his eyes. “I just don’t…understand…after all this time, you still…”

“I’ll never stop.” Film Brain’s voice trembled and his cheeks retained their crimson hue, but he stared back at Critic with a determination he’d rarely shown before. “I can’t stop. Maybe that means there is something wrong with me, but I can’t stop feeling this way, Critic. You only think of yourself as this horrible person who brings misery to others, but I know that’s not true. I can see all the other wonderful parts of you. I see the smart, funny man who loves to tear down what’s bad because he wants the world to produce something that’s actually worthwhile. I see the passionate, determined man who first inspired me to start looking at films at a deeper level, and to keep going with my reviews even after I had a rough beginning. Maybe the words you used weren’t always charming, but you told me what I needed to hear, Critic, and you helped me become better. I wanted to keep getting better so that one day you’d consider doing a crossover with me. I wanted to get to know you so much better, I wanted to be with you when you went on these adventures, and I wanted to tell you…how much I love you. I love you, Critic, and I’ll n-never stop...”

Film Brain turned away to collect himself, sniffling for a moment as he reached up to wipe his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing he had gone too far. “I didn’t come here to tell you that and make you feel worse. Please forget about this, Critic. I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Don’t.” Film Brain froze, his outstretched hand about to grasp the door knob, before he slowly looked back at the bed. Critic was sitting with his head and shoulders slumped, legs folded neatly beneath him, arms wrapped around his torso as he gave himself a hug, the kind he was most used to receiving. He looked very small. “Don’t go,” he said, his voice scared, tiny. “Come over here. Please?”

Film Brain complied at once. Critic had never sounded like this before and it was starting to scare him. “What is it?” he asked, wiping his eyes one last time. To Film Brain’s surprise, he was pulled down into a sitting position directly beside the other man, the breath knocked sharply from his body. “Ahh! Critic, what…”

“Say it again.” Critic turned to Film Brain, revealing to him his flushed, petrified expression, before he very slowly wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him into a hesitant embrace. Film Brain forgot to breathe for a moment as he was pressed against the warm, strong chest of the Critic, before he let out a shaky exhalation of mingled shock, embarrassment, and exhilaration. No words passed his lips, since his mind was overheating with confused but delighted thoughts, but Critic needed words right now. “Say it again and I’ll believe it this time. Please, Film Brain…” His buried his face in the younger man’s shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. “Please say it again.”

“I love you, Critic.” Film Brain wrapped his thin arms around the Critic’s shaking torso and held as tightly to him as he could. “I love you. I always have and I always will.”

Almost instantly, the incessant ache that had plagued Critic for months vanished, and his whole body was overcome by a pleasantly cool wave of relief, soothing his frayed nerves and settling the discord he carried in his chest.

This wasn’t a trick. This wasn’t a lie. Even without possessing omnipotent powers, Critic could feel what Film Brain felt for him. This was the honest truth.

Critic might be a terrible person at times, but he was loved.


	4. Chapter 4

“Donnie! Donnie! Can you hear us, Donnie!”

Critic opened his eyes and sat up in confusion. No one called him by that name anymore, so why was he hearing it now? And why was he floating in some weird black void instead of snuggled up in his _Pound Puppies_ bed sheets?

“Guys, he’s sitting up! I think he can hear us now! Donnie!”

“Rebecca?” Critic turned around and stared directly into a swirling mass of blue energy that he had seen a few times before in his life. The Plot Hole.

However, instead of fearing it this time, Critic found himself strangely calm as he approached the ball of infinite power, and when he peered more closely at it, he could see four smiling faces peering back at him from within its core. “It is you! And Tacoma! Carl! Quinn! Holy shit, you guys!” Critic couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he gazed at their familiar faces. “I never thought I would see you again!”

“Neither did we!” Rebecca agreed. “Not until we saw this freaky thing following us around,” she said, gesturing to the Plot Hole.

“Wait, you guys saw the Plot Hole in your world?” Critic asked, confused.

“Apparently there is some magical imbalance in our universe which keeps drawing this verflucht thing to our sides,” Carl answered. “We don’t understand much about it ourselves, so we had to rely on someone skilled with the art of magic to help us contact you.”

“Why would you want to contact me?” Critic asked, the smile sliding off his face. “Your lives have all gotten better now that I’m not a part of them.”

“Have you gone daft, Donnie?” Quinn asked good-naturedly. “Our lives have gotten better because you were a part of them.”

“It’s true,” Tacoma spoke up. “After surviving ‘Demo Reel’, I had the courage to show my resume to an independent film company. I’m finally writing the scripts I always wanted to because of you.”

“I had the confidence to negotiate my own contract for the first time and now, people see me as a smart, competent actor and not a bimbo,” Rebecca added, her eyes a bit misty as she spoke. 

“Of course we can’t forget how you managed to bring these two love-birds together,” Quinn teased, causing Rebecca and Tacoma to blush as they clasped hands. “Though it’s more than just those two; you brought us all together, Donnie. I used to think I didn’t have anyone left in the world but my flask, but thanks to you introducing me to this lot, I haven’t felt lonely in a long time.”

“I... I had no idea you felt like this,” Critic admitted, too stunned by these revelations to say much else. “I never thought you being involved with me could lead to anything good.”

“I’ve always thought you were too hard on yourself,” Carl said with a stern yet sad smile. “You might be the biggest Dummkopf the world has ever seen, and that’s saying something considering who my current employers are, but you are also a person we are proud to call a friend.”

“That’s right,” Tacoma agreed while the others nodded. “We wouldn’t be where we are today if it wasn’t for you, Donnie.”

“God… I don’t know what to say.” Critic looked down, his cheeks hurting from the smile he bore, even though his eyes were misting up. He had never thought himself capable of making people happy like this, but maybe he’d been wrong, just as he’d been wrong about so many things. “I miss you guys so much,” he admitted, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

“We miss you too, Donnie,” Rebecca replied, her expression suddenly growing worried. “That’s why we wanted to contact you like this. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

“Help me?” Critic repeated, brows burrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Every time this… Plot Hole thing has appeared to us, we can see glimpses of you inside it,” Tacoma tried to explain.

“You always look miserable or angry when we see you,” Quinn added, looking worried as well now. “It’s like you’re being tortured or something, mate. What gives?”

“Oh.” Critic rubbed his head, which was still pain-free thankfully, and tried to find the right words to explain. “Yeah, things haven’t been going great for me lately. I’ve, uh, been having a few break-downs.”

“Oh no.” Rebecca brought her hands to her mouth. “Donnie, isn’t there anyone who can help you over there? There have to be people on your end who care about you.”

“Actually,” Critic said, smiling softly, “there are. I’ve been pushing them away for a long, long time, but… I think now I’m ready to stop. I’ve felt angry and miserable and alone for so long now, but I don’t want to be this way anymore. I want to be better and I promise you guys, I’m really going to try to do that.”

“Thank goodness.” Rebecca and Quinn both wiped at their eyes this time.

“Heh, might you be speaking about that scene we witnessed not long ago involving you and the British Windbeutel?”Carl asked, his smile growing sly.

Critic’s face burned bright red. “Shut up! That didn’t mean anything! You fucking voyeurs make me sick!”

“Sorry, Donnie, we can’t control what this thing shows us,” Tacoma apologized, though his smile was also rather amused.

“Well, I guess that makes sense, since I couldn’t control the visions I saw of you guys either,” Critic muttered as he calmed down. “So you all... you really are happy, right?” Critic looked at each of the four in turn.

“We’d be happier if you were still with us,” Rebecca said, squeezing Tacoma’s hand as she spoke. “But yes, we are happy now, Donnie, and we hope very much that you will be too.”

“Even you, Carl? You aren’t, uh, dealing with any weird shit with that new Demo Reel crew?” Critic asked, thinking back to that dream he’d had not so long ago.

“They are all Schwein of the highest degree but they are all still good people, and they pay me enough to keep me in booze and comfortable boots, so I can’t complain.”

“What about the world? Because I could swear it looked like the Apocalypse hit you or something,” Critic wondered.

“Oh, yeah, the world was totally destroyed and turned to nothing but rubble for a few days last month,” Quinn chimed in happily. “But after our magic user finished reviewing his pornographic Japanese comic book, he fixed everything right up!”

“That was not a pornographic comic book!” someone called out from in the distance, causing the other four to chuckle softly.

Just then, the Plot Hole glowed bright blue before it began to fade away. “I guess this is it,” Tacoma said sadly. “The magic seems to be weakening.”

“So this is good bye then,” Rebecca said, dabbing her eyes once again. “Goodbye, Donnie. Maybe in another life we can all meet again.”

“Goodbye!” Critic waved at the four until they had completely vanished into the ether. He reached out, touching the void where the Plot Hole and his friends had been, and squeezed the darkness tightly. “Goodbye.”

\-----

Outside Critic’s bedroom door, Linkara, Spoony, and Nostalgia Chick were having an impromptu and hushed conversation.

“Really, Linkara, it’s not a problem. Just let me get the spare bottle I have out of my car-”

“No! Why is that you answer to every problem we have, Chick?”

“Because it produces solutions, Linkara.”

“So the orgy’s definitely off, then?”

“Damn it, Spoony, why is that your answer to every problem we have?”

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Chick said, turning toward the door. “You want results? This is the fastest way to get them.” With that, she kicked the door open and marched inside. “Listen up, Critic, because we… huh.”

“What is it, Chick?” Spoony asked as he and Linkara followed her into the room. “Oh... huh.”

The three of them stared in silent surprise at the sight of a smiling but soundly sleeping Nostalgia Critic, whose head was nestled in Film Brain’s lap where it was being stroked very tenderly by the Brit. Or it had been, until the Chick’s kick had almost scared him into having a heart attack.

“Um, I-I can explain,” Film Brain said, very red-faced by this point.

“No need, Film Brain, we read you loud and clear,” Linkara replied, offering an approving smile to the younger man. “Good job wearing him out, since sleep was just he needed. We’ll just leave you two alone now, but I will warn you for next time that Critic has a tendency to sleep-cuddle.”

“Y-you’ve got the wrong idea!” Film Brain cried before suddenly turning his head sharply to Linkara. “Wait, how the hell would you know that?”

“I think we’d all like an answer to that question,” Spoony agreed, now casting an amused look to Linkara, who had suddenly gone as red-faced as Film Brain.

“Shut up, Spoony!”

“I’ll shut up when you put up!”

“For fuck’s sake, why don’t you all shut up?” Everyone turned their attention to Critic, who was now staring up at them with eyes that were irritated yet gentler than they’d been in years.

“Critic, I’m sorry if we woke you,” Film Brain said, raising his hand from where it had been resting atop Critic’s head. In response, Critic pulled it back down.

“No, keep doing that. Feels good.” Critic sighed as the stroking resumed before he looked again to the others. “Look, I know you had good intentions with that shitty party idea, so instead of cursing you out for being the biggest idiots in the world, I’ll just say thanks instead for worrying about me. So… thanks.”

Nostalgia Chick raised an eyebrow at Critic before peering into her beer bottle. “Did anyone spike this, because I could swear I’m tripping balls right now.”

“No, Chick, I’m being serious,” Critic said, smiling softly. “I’ve been fighting you all for so long, but I’m surrendering now. You guys aren’t just my friends; you’re my family and I… I…”

“We know,” Linkara replied, while the others gave knowing smiles. “We’ve always known, Critic.”

“Yeah.” Critic still wasn’t very good with words or emotions, but at least he’d found a group of people who could understand him regardless.

“So, we really will leave you two alone this time,” Linkara promised as the three made their way to the door. “But remember, we’re here whenever you need us. Unless I’m saving the world.”

“Or I’m saving the world,” Spoony added.

“Or I just don’t feel like talking to you,” Chick chimed in.

“Goodbye, assholes!” Critic cried, although his words were tinged with fondness instead of his usual anger. When they were at last gone, Critic shifted onto his back so that he could stare up into the wide blue eyes which were still gazing down at him rather affectionately. “So, I take it you still haven’t come to your senses and decided to find someone better yet.”

“Nope,” Film Brain said, his fingers teasing gently over the creases in Critic’s forehead. “Because there isn’t anyone better than you.”

Film Brain’s eyes widened when Critic suddenly sat up and faced him with a rather intense expression. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but then he was being crushed so tightly against Critic’s chest, wrapped in arms that threatened to squeeze every last bit of breath from him, and then his lips were being pressed against those of the man he’d been dreaming of for so very long, that Film Brain lost the ability to speak. Or think. Or move. All he could do was feel, feel the white hot lightning which jolted through his body, feel the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms standing straight up, feel his heart pounding a rhythm so fast it could have matched any jungle drum. Everything was warm and bright and soft and right with the world, and even as his lungs started to feel like they might burst from a lack of oxygen, Film Brain couldn’t pull away from the source of his bliss.  
It took Critic pulling back for the younger man to finally refill his lungs with air, and while Film Brain panted heavily and struggled to keep himself from melting into a puddle, Critic tilted his head and considered things.

“Wow.” Critic placed a hand over his own rapidly beating heart, his flushed cheeks starting to hurt as he once again found himself unable to stop smiling. “That was pretty…yeah, wow. I, uh, I think that might have been the best kiss I’ve ever had,” he admitted. He’d never before experienced a kiss that left him feeling so happy and peaceful. “Okay, we’re definitely going to have to do that again, Film Brain.” Critic glanced over at the Brit. “Film Brain? You okay?”

“Huh?” Film Brain blinked glassy eyes at Critic, his smile dazed and confused. “Whazzat?”

“Guess we’re going to have to do that a lot,” Critic murmured, finding himself rather pleased by the prospect of them both getting used to kisses together. “Well, uh, let’s see. I’m still feeling a bit tired so I think I’ll just take another nap, but if you feel like going to out to dinner or something later tonight, I’m up for it. You can hang around here if you want in the meantime. I think Chester and Lester are here, and despite smelling like grim death they aren’t bad company. Or if you’d rather go back to your place-”

“I’ll stay here!” Film Brain squeaked, at last regaining the ability to speak coherent words. “I-I’m actually a bit tired too, so would it be okay if I…t-t-took a nap with you?”

Critic blinked at Film Brain’s blushing face, tried very hard not to find it adorable, failed, and then nodded as he shifted onto his side. “Sure, that’d be great… if that’s what you want.” Without wasting a second, Film Brain slid into place beside Critic, his back pressed against the older man’s chest.

“Are you sure that this is what you want, Critic?” he asked, voice soft and shy.

In response, Critic slowly wrapped an arm around his torso and pressed him close. He closed his eyes as another cool wave of comfort, mingled this time with warm rays of love, washed over him, and watched as a sea of faces started to blossom before him. Critic’s Channel Awesome friends and the Demo Reel crew stood together, smiling softly at him.

“I’m sure, Film Brain.”


End file.
